


we all end in the ocean

by buries



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Justice League (2017), Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Wondertrev Love Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-31 00:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: steve is gone, and so is the sun.or the one where diana must venture into the realm of the gods and complete one labour at a very high price.--The year is 2035. After 25 years of being in the Underworld, Hades returns Steve to Diana, as promised. With a quarter of a century to spend together at their fingertips, what happens when the Greek gods take Steve from her again in exchange for locating the missing sun? Companion tobe the ocean where i unravel.Written for Wondertrev Love Week.





	1. something i would never lose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wondertrev @ tumblr's [love week](https://wondertrevnet.tumblr.com/post/185636792980/voting-is-over-and-wondertrev-week-2019-is-a-go), this is a companion to [be the ocean where i unravel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574698). I would recommend reading that for references and for context on relationships and characters. This can also be considered a companion to [sunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186611), although I never specified if that one belonged in this universe.
> 
> This is dedicated to all my Wondertrevs! I joined the 2018 Love Week on a whim and had an absolutely enjoyable experience, and am really glad that I can participate once more with such an awesome fandom.
> 
> A note about updates: I will not be updating every day of the Love Week (4 August - 10 August), but I am aiming to have this completed in August. I have some other fandom things I'm participating in during this month (and have some offline commitments as well), and I want to be able to give this story the attention it deserves and still participate. I may be finishing this a few days or a week after the Love Week! (Hopefully it's worth it!)
> 
> Without further ado: Title and subsequent chapter titles are from Billy Joel's "The River of Dreams". Chapter 1's prompt is "Present Day". This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Diana thrusts her sword forward and sidesteps to the left. She tears her sword through the air, kinetic energy sparking blindingly before her. Threads of lightning spark off the hilt.

She doesn’t stop.

She strikes again, forcing all her energy onto her feet. Immediately she knows she’s acted foolishly, too emotionally — Antiope would reprimand her for such a stupid mistake, pushing her weight to distribute unevenly.

A skilled enemy would know to strike at her legs. An Amazon would thrust eagerly for the final blow of knocking her over as though she were merely made of the most delicate of silk.

He doesn’t know that. Doesn’t think it.

Righting herself quickly, Diana strikes again, sword pulling firmly through the air. It hits the shield he holds, sparking dangerously, causing it to hum with the mere intensity of her force.

Pivoting on her foot, she kicks and sends him tumbling to the grass.

Winded, Steve tries to hold his hands up beneath her shield, but it crushes him instead. "Yield! I yield!"

"Warriors never yield," she says, repeating the words and the exact firm reprimanding tone she once heard her aunt use toward her warriors. 

"Amazons are a special type of warrior, Diana," he says, lips quirked upward slightly. He remains lying on the grass of the Justice League’s backyard, breathing heavily and looking very much like his bones have melted to jelly. With all the strength he can muster, he pushes her shield to the side. He acts as though it’s left a crater in his chest; the weight is barely a feather for her, but for Steve it’s akin to holding a plane above his head. 

He rests his hands on his chest and closes his eyes. Diana feels sad at the loss of the familiar bright blue. "I’m not an Amazon," he says breathlessly.

"You will be," she says. She holds her sword tip to the ground, peering down at him curiously. Eager to go again, she tries to lure him to his feet — it’s a fruitless endeavour, given it’s Steve. He knows his limits, especially when it comes to her hunger for adrenaline and the sound of swords kissing. "You _could_ be."

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, not once opening his eyes. Licking his lips, he remains where he is. He doesn’t move despite her wishing him to open his eyes to peer up at her. "You want me to be an Amazon?"

"Yes," she says immediately, not once finding it amusing. "Of course. You can fight, Steve. You can be a warrior —"

He shakes his head. "I can’t," he says decisively. "I can be a soldier. I can be a pilot. I can’t be a warrior, Diana." It’s then he opens his bright blue eyes, squinting up at her. She moves to block the bright sun. "Thank you."

Extending his arm to the side, he pats the grass beside him. Diana doesn’t need him to utter an invitation. Dropping her sword unceremoniously — and very unlike an Amazon — to the ground, she follows suit, lying on her back beside him. Her arm touches his and she moves closer toward him, flush against his side.

"You make that armour look so easy to wear," he says, turning his head to look at her. He squints his eyes, vulnerable now that she isn’t there to block out the sun.

"Do I?" says, arching her brow. She turns her head to look at him.

He nods. "You do. It looks so … heavy. And immovable. But you … You float in it."

Diana merely shrugs, feeling her face flush.

"It’s kind of hot." At her pinched brows and amused smile, he laughs. "What? I can be hip! What is it that the kid’s been saying? I can be 'lit'."

Diana shakes her head. "Never say that again."

"Why? Are you jealous you’re not lit?"

She laughs, shifting herself abruptly to rest her head on his shoulder. It must be awkward for him, given that he can’t wrap his arm underneath her like he often does. The armour is too heavy and sharp. Without hesitation, she takes his arm and cradles it to her chest.

Fifty years ago, she had traipsed through the trials and labours of her ancestral home to find him. She had been forced to face her darkest demons and been tempted with such delicious fruits. Often she thinks of Ladon guarding those brilliantly golden apples, the deer that had followed her as a shadow, and her aunt.

Sometimes Diana wishes she had gone back to retrieve her. She could have saved her soul — kept it as her own, as she had found Steve’s. But it had been a gift from her aunt that she be given a prize better than gold, than any trophies or accolades a warrior like her could ever ask for.

The events that had occurred in 1984 had lifted her spirits, and for the quarter of a century that she had Steve, she had felt whole. She had someone to come home to, sharing her adventures in heroics that she had kept quiet in the years she had been without family.

She hadn’t thought she’d ever see him again when Cerberus had come for him. The gods had kept their word: she would have twenty five years with him during their winter and she would be without him during their spring.

When he had been brought back to her a year ago, so obediently by Cerberus and her shadow deer, she had never wanted to let him go.

"What do you think Superman is doing right now?" Steve asks, tilting his head up to peer at the grand building of the Justice League. It was made of expensive stone, several stories high and several stories below the ground. It stood brilliantly, as loud as Bruce Wayne’s playboy persona and as warmly as Clark Kent’s heart. It had been formidable, much like her, against the attacks of the "supervillains" all the heroes of the League had collected.

She felt it was impenetrable. Inside of its walls, and in its carefully manicured backyard, she felt safe — untouched. Not even the Greek gods could find their way in here.

Diana peers up at the tall building that sits a good distance away from where they lay, breathing in deeply to only let it out slowly. "You are obsessed."

"I’m not," he says, laughing. Except he is — he had admitted it once, stupidly drunk and awfully chatty. It’d been six months since he had returned to her, and after he had a drink in hand (at the encouragement of Arthur), he had drunk and drunk and become awfully familiar with the League.

At least Diana now knew why Clark Kent was unrecognised as Superman at the Daily Plant. Those glasses were a work of art. Steve had badgered and badgered until Lois had informed him of what had fooled her for years.

Clearing his throat, Steve slides his hand down her bare arm to intertwine his fingers with hers. "Do you think he’s watching?"

Diana laughs taken aback, and regards him with a frown. "What?"

"Do you think he’s watching? Superman — Clark? Do you think he’s watching right now?"

She shakes her head, still smiling. Noting the red flushing his cheeks, Diana thinks to make it worse. "Why would he be watching?"

Steve opens his mouth then closes it. "I … I don’t know? I was just — He can _see through walls_, Diana! That’s — He’s — What are you doing?" Diana leans over him, throwing her leg over his own. She straddles his waist, her fingers digging into his shoulders to hold him down. He tries to move, but she has him locked in place. "Di —"

"Are you afraid he’ll see?" she smirks down at him, lowering her face ever so slightly. Watching him stutter out a flustered nonsensical answer, she brushes the tip of her nose against his. "Let them see, Steve. I finally have you all to myself."

Pressing her lips gently against his, she can feel him still tense at the idea of being seen by an alien who can peer through walls with a mere squint of his eyes. She smiles, pressing kisses slowly across his cheeks, then to his hairline, waiting for him to melt like the snow in Veld.

"I … suppose that’s a good reason for exhibitionism."

She laughs, making her way across his forehead to his other cheek, then firmly slants her mouth against his.

He’s warm and solid beneath her, lips as full and confident as she remembers them to be in Veld. His hands glide along her back, tucking into the sharp corners of her armour.

"This is heavy, by the way," he murmurs against her lips. Diana does nothing but smile, digging her knees into the warm ground to distribute her weight off of him. He whines in the back of his throat, but she presses her lips more firmly against his, fingers digging into the fabric pulling taught across his shoulders.

She burrows her fingers into it like a blade piercing the flesh of a sternum, feeling the threads unravel as she slices her finger right through it.

"That’s my favourite —"

"Shh," Diana says, using the ground’s firm grip on his shoulder to tear at the fabric. It bears his skin to her curious and hungry fingers, her other hand resting patiently on his other covered shoulder.

"Di —"

"Shh," she says against his lips once more.

He feels firm beneath her, as warm as the sun. It’s almost as though it has pressed itself into his skin, submerging underneath there to warm him from the inside out. He is the fire that had burned on that fateful torch Hecate had handed her, deliciously warm and all too tantalising. Diana, forever a moth, could never reject the notion of flocking toward the fire.

Steve pushes against her, tilting his head away from her lips that are still forming an amused smile, and begins to attack her neck. It’s a battle strategy that has always worked in his favour — it succumbs even the most wild of beasts, like that of Ladon, that of Medusa’s snakes. Diana tilts her head and arches her neck, feeling his smile burn into her skin.

Curiously the sky begins to darken, the white smear of clouds turning a dismal grey. Diana looks at it through hooded eyes, her senses dull as the sun begins to turn into charcoal. 

The grass beneath them stills, the warmth leeched from the blades. Steve’s mouth is still warm on her neck as the world around them darkens as though Zeus himself has thrust his thick hand forward to snuff out the fire of Hephaestus’ smithy.

Her fingers are tight around his bare and clothed shoulders, desperate in a way that isn’t lustful, but even her fierce grip isn’t enough to keep him. Firm bone begins to disperse, slipping from her hands like water. Steve’s warm and firm mouth begins to fade like the ray of the sun.

Diana’s eyes are open as the world disappears into a frigid and frightening darkness. Her hands grip the bent blades that had once been underneath Steve. Diana straddles no one in the backyard of the Justice League.

Steve’s gone, and so is the sun. 

But in their wake, a bright light burns in the distance among the thick bush aligning the border of the Justice League’s backyard. A pair of eyes, sitting lower than the glowing torch, peer at her unblinkingly. Familiar and warm … a guide Diana hadn’t expected to see so soon.

_It isn’t time._

Her deer steps out of the shadows, a bright figure in a darkened world. From her distance, she can see it twitch its ears and cock its head.

Diana stands to follow.


	2. baptised by the fire, i wade into the river

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The sun is gone." Diana straightens once Hecate peers at her again, her stare unblinking. "And Steve is tasked to find it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Day 2 prompt: "Morning After." We meet a few old friends ... And I am taking quite a few liberties with Greek mythology, twisting it into my own versions of those great characters, which I hope you enjoy!

Her deer leads her to a dirt crossroads lit by four torches indicating north, south, east, and west. Thin, like vines, and barely constituting as a crossroads worthy of its ruler, it still bears the arms in the familiar pattern of the roads and pathways Diana has always stopped to peer at reminiscently over the years.

This road had guided her to her rightful destination. Briefly she wonders if it’ll navigate her further away.

With her fingers gently scratching the top of the deer’s head, Diana allows her friend to guide her into the depths of the trees. They appear longer and darker, packed more tightly together than they were before. When she peers upward, the canopy is thick and woven tightly together by an expert hand.

No one can see through the canopy, from above it or below it. She doesn’t have to wonder if Clark can peer through it; something tells her that he won’t be able to.

The Justice League headquarters is framed by bush, similar to that of Wayne Manor. It’s as though Bruce can’t bear to have the world peer at him from all angles, requiring _some_ semblance of privacy from those prying eyes. Diana has always loved it, watching as Clark and Barry race through the trees and shake them as though they are giants, their footsteps moving the earth like that of Goliath.

Now, they’ve been transformed. No longer do they stand as the race track of an alien and a speedster, but the domain of a friendly goddess. Perhaps two goddesses, if Diana chooses to stop neglecting her own self.

Standing in the belly of them, blanketed by a newborn darkness, she can see mist curl at the edges of all the trees. It twines up the trunks, wrapping tightly around the branches. Tendrils of it reach upward slowly, as if trying to extend their hands toward the blocked sky.

Hecate is as she remembers her — tall in her poise, formidable in her silence. Her skin glows in the darkness, a warm deep brown that makes her think of Hephaestus’ warmest fires. She’s dressed in black, but in a fabric that looks descriptively like the night itself. Diana smiles when she sees her, and warms when she notices Hecate smiling back.

The Goddess of the Crossroads absently strokes the head of a black she-dog sitting at her heels. The dog’s eyes are closed and humming softly enough to shake the earth beneath their feet.

"You know why I’m here," Diana says kindly. Hecate only nods. "Why did you take him away from me so early?"

Hecate shakes her head. "I did not take him from you, Diana," she says, her voice wrapping around her like the mist weaves itself into the bark of the trees that stand guard. "He has been summoned."

Her brow crinkles and her hand pauses in its absent ministrations of scratching the deer behind its ears. "Summoned?" Hecate’s beautiful face is impassive. Shadows flicker over her defined cheekbones, causing them to disappear for only a moment behind its palm. "To where? By whom?"

Hecate smiles, close-lipped and pleased. She bows her head ever so slightly, the only indication Diana has that her questions — or one of them — had been the right one to ask. "The Goddess herself."

Diana’s heart plummets to her feet. Her entire body stiffens. "What does Hera want with Steve?"

Hecate tilts her head upwards toward the covered canopy. "The sun is gone." Diana straightens once Hecate peers at her again, her stare unblinking. "And he is tasked to find it."

Tilting her head to the side, Diana stares at Hecate for a long moment. The Goddess remains standing as she is, hands clasped, lips pressed together in an easygoing line. She remains as a solid figure cloaked in darkness, her eyes bright like that of the sun itself. The black she-dog remains joyfully distracted by Hecate’s unmoving and dedicated fingers scratching behind her ear.

"How is Steve meant to locate the sun?"

With a patience Diana only envies, Hecate keeps her voice even. "A soldier requires a soldier’s help, not a warrior’s." She waits impatiently for Hecate’s soft voice to echo around her once more, hoping against all hope that this Goddess will _explain_. "The sun has been stolen from the sky. Without it, the moon will rule over the world for much longer than she should, and dawn will never see another day. The east and the west were born to be ridden across, but without the sun …" The black she-dog makes a frightful sound deep in her throat, causing the ground to shake uncomfortably.

Diana’s eyes remain on the black she-dog as Hecate’s fingers work to calm her. The Goddess of the Crossroads doesn’t peer at her dog in worry, her gaze burning into Diana. "So I’m to wait," she says gently, uncertain. Peering up at Hecate, she realises that isn’t the answer. "You want me to help."

"Only a soldier can help a soldier," Hecate says once more. "But you, Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta, and friend of Hecate, are not a soldier. Nor are you a warrior."

Before Diana can look up at her again, Hecate’s in front of her, hands clasping both of Diana’s. Her touch is soft, like silk, but loose, like that of sea spray. She can feel pinpricks of sensation against her hands, but Hecate’s touch is as fleeting as the night.

"You are a Goddess," she says, her voice light and echoing around them. "And I entrust in you the confidence of your assistance."

Hecate’s hands become heavy in hers, bone and flesh forming even though Diana can’t see it transforming along her silky hands. Something heavy presses into the palm of Diana’s right hand. When she peers down, she doesn’t see the tendrils of smoke outlining Hecate’s mystical hands, but a golden apple that burns brightly in the place of the sun.

"Do you remember the smoke?"

Diana nods. "Of course," she murmurs. It had been her ball of never-ending string, guiding her through the numerous obstacles and by the many Gods she had only ever dreamt of. It hadn’t failed her all those years ago. It won’t fail her now.

The golden apple shrinks in her hand to the size of a pearl, allowing her to tuck it into her breastplate.

With a bark of the black she-dog, Hecate departs, disappearing into tendrils of black and white burning smoke. The deer nudges Diana against her leg before venturing toward the right where a path of lit torches weave into the bush. In the distance, she can see fire burn.

It’s with a skip in her step she wades through the darkness and into the realm of the gods, and right into Hephaestus’ welcoming smithy.

*

"A _ha!_"

Hephaestus’ voice booms loudly in the smithy, reverberating off the walls. Bits of dust and rock fall from the mere shake of the exclamation, causing Diana to brush the grains free from her hair.

With his back to her, she can see him work the fire with his large red tongs. When he pulls them out of the fire, they burn a hungry red, cooling almost instantly as he holds them high above his head. From her approach, she can easily see he’s wearing an apron — one made of material unlike that of the chef’s aprons Barry likes to wear — and that his boots are burnt and dirty, mud marring the soles and leading like a pathway up his large, thick leg.

His veins burn brightly beneath his skin like lava drooling from the mouth of a volcano down its sides. Hephaestus is a big man who is as beautiful as the swords and shields he makes. The clothes on his back are thick armour and short-sleeved, with his long pant legs proudly and unevenly singed.

His smithy is as she remembers it: low ceiling, so warm she could easily sleep, and large and never-ending, despite knowing that it has a mouth with lips and a tongue leading out into a forest.

Before she has the chance to decide whether sneaking up on a God of his stature is wise, he turns and spots her. Immediately his lips curve into a wide and beaming smile, his smoky eyes filling with happiness.

"Diana!" his voice booms around his smithy. Dropping his tongs onto the lip of the fire he strokes, he only takes a few footsteps to close the distance between them. He’s a big man, and feels even more so when he wraps his arms around her. He is warm, like the sun, and incredibly fleshy, like a human.

His hug is suffocating with warmth and love — and with two heavy arms that are filled with a power Diana can only envy.

Pulling away from her, he glances her over with a smile. That big bear of a smile drops suddenly. "You’re not here to see me for me, are you?"

She shakes her head regrettably.

"Ah," he says, and this time it’s disappointment lacing his voice. "Yes. I heard he was here. My clock is spinning out of control." Gesturing to his left, Diana notes that a round clock hangs on his rock wall. It’s beautiful with hand carved numbers lining the circumference. Two hands burn as luminescent as the stars, moving too frantically around its world for Diana to possibly tell the time.

"Is that —"

Hephaestus nods. "That’s my Steve clock," he says, lips quirking upward in amusement. "I told you I was keeping an eye on his time the last I saw you, Diana," he says.

Last she had seen Hephaestus, she had required a sword to slay the likes of Kryptonian. Luckily for her, the God before her had the aptitude to create such weaponry, even for creatures he believes belong in his storybooks. It’d been the one thing to destroy a demon from Clark’s world, even though she doubts she had truly slain the beast that lingers and haunts him from inside his memories.

"I’m glad you made it in one piece," Hephaestus says. "And the sword…?"

Diana shakes her head. "It served its purpose, and now it hangs in pieces along the walls of the Justice League."

He nods. "A worthy home."

Pulling his apron free of its ties, he tosses it over his shoulder. Diana watches it sail through the air as though it weighs nothing, falling into a drum filled with odd bits of fabric.

Wordlessly, Hephaestus leads her away from the roaring, working fires, and down a small corridor into a room with a table lined with chairs. His home is expansive, yet it remains carved of rock. Along the walls are little nitches with fire pits burning inside. These aren’t the type of flames one would work in to forge a sword or a dining knife.

Pulling out a chair for her, he then moves to the other side of the dining table to collapse in his seat. Even in this light, Hephaestus still looks like a wondrous God, his eyes smoking, his skin still burning with lines of fire. He sits very much like Arthur, slouching in his chair.

The wooden table beneath her hands hums with warmth. Along the sides are carvings of various depictions of Greek God lore.

"Made it myself," Hephaestus murmurs. At her look of surprise, he chuckles. "I can make more than weapons, sister."

Diana smiles. "You are very talented. This is beautiful."

"And unseen by many," he sighs. Hephaestus is a recluse, of his own design and perhaps of someone else’s. "I can’t help you," he says. "You know that, yes?"

Diana doesn’t nod, instead preoccupying herself with running her hands along the side of the table.

"There is no such thing as _can’t_, brother," she says quietly, her eyes studying the patterns he has carved into the side. They tell many stories of triumph, often achieved due to perseverance. She runs her fingers again over that of a small horse and a woman riding its back.

"I’m afraid," he admits. Diana peers up at him. "Hera has very little love for me —"

Reaching toward her breastplate, she places the golden apple on top of the table. The small bauble grows incredibly fast to its full size.

"That wicked witch," he murmurs under his breath. Diana’s uncertain if it’s meant to be derisively sharp or soft in awe.

"Hecate gave it to me," she says, despite knowing he understands who had passed it onto her. "I have to give it to Hera."

He shakes his head. "Hera has very little love for those apples, Diana," he says. "She will find it an insult."

"I have to try."

Leaning back in his chair, he crosses his arms against his chest. Letting out a sigh through his nose, tendrils of smoke eclipse the room momentarily. "The sun’s gone," he says, tone despondent. "And so’s a lot of hope."

"You know what’s happened."

He nods. "I do."

Diana leans forward against the table, elbows pressing into the warm hum beneath the wood. "Tell me."

Swallowing thickly, Hephaestus lifts his hand. In the centre of his palm, he births a spitball of fire, it spinning round and round. It begins to thicken into the shape of a serpent that slides in and out between his fingers. Playing with the shape for a minute, Hephaestus then sighs again. The fire doesn’t once shake beneath his breath.

"A long time ago, I was commissioned as a young blacksmith to design and forge a chariot so regal it would be able to withstand even the most potent of fires. I did, successfully. It was the most beautiful chariot a Titan has ever seen."

Still leaning against the table, Diana finds herself wanting to press forward. The distance between them is too far. Accidentally brushing her fingers against the side of the table, she can feel some of the carvings move. Sitting back, she witnesses a chariot of his description float across the skirt of the table and reach toward the sun.

Staring at him in awe, she says, "You made Hyperion’s chariot."

"Which he bestowed to his son."

"_The_ Sun."

The corner of his lips quirk upward. "That chariot brought order to the days. It rides across Ethiopia and Hesperides, starting the day and finishing it. Without that chariot, the sky drifts into chaos. Selene slumbers for too long. Eos rises too late."

Diana’s eyes widen, childlike in their wonder. "The chariot has been stolen?"

Hephaestus nods, shifting forward to rest his arms against the table. He peers at her then, and for a second she thinks he focuses his smokey eyes into a still and sharp grey iris. 

"How?"

He shrugs. "Don’t know. Care very little — what can a blacksmith like me do about it?"

Diana thinks too much. Hephaestus is capable of creating swords that can slay aliens, that can even destroy that of a Mother Box. He is a man of talent, a God of creation.

He is her brother. It’s her duty, and of her own accord, that she believes vehemently in his worth.

But his capabilities burn as brightly as the sun, and she wonders if the temptation to take the chariot and ride across the sky is too great of a temptation for someone of his stature. Wanting a purpose, desiring Hera’s love.

Hera does appreciate golden things, contrary to what he may believe.

Allowing her hands to slip away from the carvings, she tucks them against the skirt of her Amazonian armour. "Why does Steve need to be here?"

Hephaestus lets out a short laugh. She can’t tell if it’s one of derision. "He’s the only one who can get through to him."

"Who?"

Hephaestus’ thick brows smoke slightly, a darker tinge to the grey. For a moment she wonders if he’ll pretend he doesn’t know, tucking his trust in her into the deepest pockets of his pants. 

"Heracles." 

Resting his elbow against the table, he raises his arm up high to allow the snake of fire slither around his elbow like a long vine. "He is half a man, like your Steve."

Looking down at the slithering snake curling its way up his arm, she wonders if it’s because of their agreement. Half his life spent on earth, the other half in Hades. Does that make him half a man? Or is it his status of being dead what cuts him in two?

"And he’s pigheaded," Hephaestus chuckles. "Won’t listen to a damn God unless it’s a pretty one like you. Even then, he’s only got eyes for Megs."

"Megara."

"Pretty thing," he muses. "Made her a sword, designed by Heracles himself. It was gorgeous and lethal, but nothing to slay the likes of the Nemean."

"Where can I find Megara?"

He shakes his head. "Wrong direction. You need to focus on Steve." Lifting his arm, he points to a spot above her head. Turning in her seat, she finds the very round clock from his smithy sits against the wall, burning brightly like that of a star. "Follow the smoke. You know the drill."

Diana watches as he stands. His bulk takes up the entirety of the expansive room. Peering up at the ceiling, he tilts his head for a moment. She thinks she hears a crack, like a loud whip, fall above their heads, but she hears nothing and sees nothing to imply she had heard anything at all.

"Be careful," he says omnisciently. The hair along her arms stand to attention, and briefly she wonders how she can be cold in such a warm presence. "A lot more is at stake than the fate of him." 

Extending his hand for her to take, Diana pushes out her chair along the stone floor. "Someone wants to speak to you," he says. His hand is warm in hers, a soothing kind of heat that seeps into her skin and relaxes her tense muscles. 

Then it strikes again — the loud clap. Both peer up toward the ceiling, witnessing nothing change from the stone formation above their heads. No grains of dust fall to their hair.

Hephaestus smiles beautifully, prompting her to wonder briefly if he’s the culprit who had swallowed the sun. The smile turns cheeky and boyish, impossibly human for a God like himself. "Let’s make the old man wait a little. I have another gift for you, sister."


End file.
